 | Poems |  |
THE CAVALIER'S WHISPER.
'Tis a cloudless noon of sultry June,
And pleasant it is to win
The cool thick shade by the chestnut made,
In front of the wayside inn;
And a pleasant sight, with his feather of white,
Is the mounted Cavalier,
Who stoops for the cup that the maid gives up,
With a word none else can hear.
And pleasant it is to win
The cool thick shade by the chestnut made,
In front of the wayside inn;
And a pleasant sight, with his feather of white,
Is the mounted Cavalier,
Who stoops for the cup that the maid gives up,
With a word none else can hear.
A moment more—from that shady door
That horseman rides away;
And little, I guess, he thinks—and less
Of the word he bent to say;
But many a noon of many a June
Must pass, with many a year,
Ere the maiden who heard that whisper'd word,
Forgets that Cavalier.
That horseman rides away;
And little, I guess, he thinks—and less
Of the word he bent to say;
But many a noon of many a June
Must pass, with many a year,
Ere the maiden who heard that whisper'd word,
Forgets that Cavalier.
| Poems | |